


I've Turned Into a Monster

by Dorano1



Category: Brotherband Chronicles
Genre: Berserker - Freeform, Gen, Stig going crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorano1/pseuds/Dorano1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tursgud and his Nightwolves have wiped out most of the Heron Brotherband. Stig takes it...badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Turned Into a Monster

Nothing's left for me but the next battle, the next fight, the next chance I get to spill Nightwolf blood - or better yet, Tursgud's blood.

He buried Hal alive under that bridge, but only after torching the _Heron_. The _Heron_...maybe we could have salvaged her, with Hal's help. But Hal's dead.

Stefan's dead. Run clean through.

Jesper's dead. Head split open.

Lydia's dead. Shot through the heart.

Ingvar's dead. Crushed under the bridge with Hal.

Ulf and Wulf are dead. Cut open by a hundred swords.

Like the fellow who's skull I just split open with my axe. He probably wasn't using it anyway. Not that I care.

The fight's over, I'm just realizing. Looking down at myself, I'm covered with blood and gore.

There's something on my face. Wiping it off, I realize it used to be part of someone's head. I almost consider keeping it for a moment. Then - no. Too hard to stuff and mount.

I'm going to have Tursgud's head on my wall some day.

* * *

We're fighting again. Edvin and Thorn seem to give me a wide berth. I don't think there's any need for that. I can still tell friend from foe.

* * *

Red shape after red shape falls before me and I feel utterly invincible. I hear crazed laughter and realize it's mine.

Do I really sound like that?

Maybe that's why nobody will go near me.

I just manage to recognize Thorn before I try and decapitate him too.

What is this?

* * *

"Stig!"

I wheel around, and my face hurts like I've been grinning but I don't understand why I'm grinning when there's so little to grin about and

_wait_

_attack_

_who is that_

_target_

_no that's Edvin stop Stig_

_swing_

_STOP THAT'S YOUR FRIEND -_

_contact_

* * *

I wake up with a massive headache. Thorn's sitting an arm's length away, no doubt ready to brain me if I go off the rails again. I'm starting to think it might be a good idea.

_ball and chain_

_cut away the problem_

I try to ignore it, but the berserker rage is so much of what we - Skandians - are, that it's not as easy as you might think. Trying not to groan, I curl up into a hunched sitting position. I notice my axe and a sword I picked up a few fights back are gone.

_find them_

_kill them_

_No._

Thorn looks up. There's a wetness on my face and at first I think it's blood but then I realize it's the beginnings of tears.

"What's going on?"

Thorn doesn't answer, just drinks his coffee, glancing over at the campfire.

Edvin's sitting there, next to his shield. It has a deep furrow in the wood, but he's unharmed.

Maybe the gods don't hate me after all?

* * *

_Trusted with a saxe_

_Asked what I'll do if we're attacked_

_Given a cold look and told to improvise_

_red_

_targets_

_kill_

_NO!_

_Don't give in_

_Come on, Stig_

_You can beat this_

_...right?_

* * *

_Nightwolves. Ten. Reaching for the familiarity of my axe._

_Remember._

_Draw my saxe instead._

_time to improvise_

_red_

_hack_

_slash_

_jab_

_blood stains the ground_

_who's blood?_

_'Stig!'_

_Is that my name?_

_Who am I fighting  
_

_'Stig!'_

_back away_

_still can't see anything_

_red_

_red_

_red_

* * *

_Shaking my head_

_Looking around in confusion_

_What's going on?_

_Thorn's giving me this look_

_Like maybe he can trust me again_

_Just a little_

_The red's going away_

_No dead friends._

_No injured friends._

_Improvement._

* * *

My thoughts are clearer now.

I have to be careful. Careful, controlled, fighting. Like nursing an injury.

I scared everyone then.

Myself, most of all.

The others didn't have to live with the red-voice in their heads.

I'm getting better.

Slowly.

Surely.

I am the skirl of the Heron brotherband. What's left of it, anyway.

One day I'll earn that.

But first, we need to rebuild the _Heron._

Then maybe I can finish rebuilding me.

**Author's Note:**

> ...so that was depressing.


End file.
